Heredity
by Tangledupandsideways
Summary: "The apple always falls further than you think"


**Heredity (47)**

 _"Accepting help is its own kind of strength" - Kiera Cass (Happily Ever Aftee)_

Cal Lightman had never liked his birthday. This one, however, is different. He feels strange, like his limbs don't quite connect to his torso but gets out of bed anyway. He peels off his clothes as he crosses the floor to the ensuite washroom, nudging the door shut behind him with his foot. The water runs cold, but he doesn't adjust the temperature before stepping under the spray. Gooseflesh rises up on his skin, but he fights the shiver that attempts to shake his spine. He washes his body, but there are things that can't be removed with soap and water yet still make his skin crawl. He doesn't wash his hair.

He twists the water off and allows a shiver to run through his body at the pricking of the air against moisture, pulls jeans up damp thighs. Digging through the dresser in the guest room, he sighs as he pulls at the corner of a slightly too small henley. He remembers bringing it there for Gillian to wear when she had stayed here, remembers trying to give himself a reason to love the garment he couldn't bear to throw away. It smells of her when he puts it on, but turns his mouth sour.

He calls Gillian on his cell, so he doesn't have to face the joy of his daughter clattering around in the kitchen, doesn't have to hear the happy exclamation, doesn't have to pretend. She answers on the second ring, voice soft yet devoid of cheer.

"Morning Cal," she says.

"Could you…" he stops himself, forces his tone sure. "Come over, Gill."

It's not a demand, not a suggestion, but a plea.

"Of course," she says. "Half an hour."

He sighs and his bones settle into place, no longer held tense.

"Half an hour then."

True to her word, Gillian arrives thirty minutes later. He listens from the upstairs hallway as Emily greets her and ushers her inside, tells her he's not yet awake. He leans against the wall and tunes out Gillian's reply as soon as he hears how soft and sorry she's gone. In doing that, he misses her footsteps on the staircase and soon approaching him.

"Hi," she says.

She's smiling all over from her bare feet to her yellow blouse to the sunlight reflecting off of her hair. She actually smiles as he looks at her, her hand rising then falling like she wants to touch him but won't. It's how she breathes sometimes.

He stops her movements by drawing her into a hug, his hands pressed flat against her back.

"I get it," she says, running his fingers through his hair and rubbing against his scalp. "You wanna talk?"

"Just want the day to be over, you know?"

He's more fragile than she's ever seen him, mouth pinched tight and eyes shiny. She presses in closer so they're chest to chest, her chin perched on his shoulder.

"I know," she says, not stopping the movements against his scalp.

She feels the moment when he gives up on trying to hold himself together. He pulls away from her. She doesn't let it hurt. He walks into his room, sitting against the headboard of his bed. Gillian follows, closing the door gently once she enters. She sits at his feet, curling her legs beneath her.

"How was Em?" he asks, refusing to look up from his lap.

"She's not offended, Cal. She gets it."

"Yeah, she's a good girl. Not sure where she gets that from."

Gillian laughs. "The apple always falls further than you think."

"Hey!"

Gillian puts her hands up, palms out. "I meant it for you, too."

He closes his eyes, leaning his head fall back against the wall.

"She wouldn't want it this way," Gillian says. "She'd want you to be happy."

Her hand resumes its dance, moving towards him then retreating cyclically, lyrically. She forces it still. Instead, crawls across the bed to sit next to him with shoulders pressed together. She leans back also, but looks up at the ceiling fan spinning in slow circles, thinks of Cal chasing something, unaware that it's buried somewhere within himself.

"Your feelings are normal, Cal. I would feel relieved, too, and guilty for feeling that. But, what mother wouldn't want their child to outlive them, to have a longer and healthier life?" She twines her fingers through his. "She'd want you to be happy and healthy and grateful. She was sick. She committed suicide. You've grieved, you've learned, you've helped other people. It's time to forgive yourself. It's time to live your life for you."

He lets out a shuddering breath.

"Happy birthday, Cal."

The air is easier to breathe. Her shoulder is solid against his, her hand soft. He turns towards her, letting the tears fall.

She asks a silent question, her eyebrows coming up and together and her lips pursing. He nods. She maneuvers him to sit in front of her, leaning back into her chest as she cradles him. Her hand returns to his head to stroke his hair. Soft whispers of reassurance brush warm against his ear.

"Please stay, Gill?"

"Of course," she says. "Of course."

She allows him to lean on her even as he starts to weigh heavy on her chest. He doesn't take long to gather himself.

"I'm ready now," he says, moving towards the edge of the bed.

He stands slowly, relieving Gillian his weight.

"Okay. You wash up and I'll meet you downstairs."

He nods and follows her directions.

"Thank you," he says.

"Yeah."

She closes the door behind her as she leaves the room. Cal sighs and goes to splash water on his face.

As he descends the stairs, he hears laughter. He walks into the room where Emily and Gillian are plating his breakfast, burnt cake resting on the countertop. He smiles as they turn around, eyebrows raised and mouth twitching to keep from smiling. His laugh bumbles out of him, but he quickly reins it in.

"No song?"

"No, no singing today. Happy birthday, dad," Em says.

"Yeah. Happy birthday."

He smiles. Forty seven's not so bad after all.

 _A/N: Today's my birthday. I_ _also feel as if I beat heredity today. However, my day went much better than this I think._


End file.
